Chapter 5 - The Corporate Strike
The transition from a struggling Brookhaven bookstore clerk to the Director of Asset Recovery for Marzano Holdings was swift, brutal, and entirely merciless.
Within two weeks, Simone had settled into her new corner office on the forty-first floor—a sprawling space of floor-to-ceiling glass, minimalist chrome furniture, and a private balcony overlooking the three rivers of Pittsburgh. Her right hand had healed cleanly beneath the white medical tape, leaving only a faint silvery line across her palm as a permanent souvenir of the marble floor.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Simone sat at her glass-topped desk, furiously reviewing a series of suspicious offshore wire transfers linked to a high-end commercial real estate developer named Victor Vance—a man who had been cozying up to Matteo Rossi in an attempt to salvage what was left of the disgraced architect's career.
A sharp knock sounded at her door, and Julian walked in without waiting for an invitation.
He had discarded his suit jacket; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, tanned forearms. He looked less like a corporate tyrant and more like a Greek god who had decided to moonlight as a venture capitalist.
“You’ve been at that terminal for six hours straight,” Julian noted, walking over and placing a steaming ceramic mug of dark roast coffee beside her keyboard. “If you develop carpal tunnel syndrome, my legal team is going to sue your laptop.”
Simone looked up, offering him a tired, grateful smile. “Victor Vance is trying to hide four million dollars in commercial escrow accounts to keep them out of bankruptcy court. He’s using dummy corporations registered in Delaware—the exact same playbook Matteo used on my father’s medical trust.”
Julian leaned over her shoulder, his chest brushing lightly against the back of her ergonomic chair as he scanned the data scrolling across her dual monitors. The subtle, clean scent of cedar and rain enveloped her instantly.
“Vance thinks he’s clever because he hired a boutique law firm in Philadelphia,” Julian murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “He doesn't realize that three of the partners in that firm owe me favors dating back to the 2008 liquidity crisis.”
“So what do we do?” Simone asked, tilting her head back slightly to look up at him, her heart doing a familiar, dangerous flutter against her ribs whenever he stood this close.
“We don't sue him,” Julian said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his mouth. “We foreclose on his primary commercial warehouse in the Strip District by 4:00 PM today. That leaves him thirty minutes to explain to his investors why their inventory is currently sitting in a Marzano-owned parking lot.”
Simone laughed—a bright, genuine sound that had been entirely foreign to her old life. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”
“Only to people who deserve it,” Julian replied softly. He straightened up, his gray eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, intense gravity. “Speaking of people who deserve it... your sister is currently standing in the hotel lobby downstairs, and she’s causing a scene.”
Simone’s smile vanished. She stiffened in her chair. “Deline? What is she doing here?”
“Her husband’s architectural firm filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy protection this morning,” Julian said calmly, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. “Their bank accounts have been frozen, their BMW was repossessed out of the country club parking lot at breakfast, and Deline’s designer wardrobe is currently being itemized by court bailiffs. She wants to see you.”
Simone stared at him for a long moment, processing the sheer, poetic velocity of karma. “She wants money.”
“She wants a lifeline,” Julian corrected. “Or failing that, she wants to scream at the person she blames for her downfall.”
Simone stood up slowly from her desk, smoothing down the front of her charcoal-gray wool trousers and silk blouse—tailored by a Marzano-approved designer who specialized in projecting absolute, unassailable power.
“Let her up,” Simone said quietly.
May you like
Julian’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you sure? I can have Frank escort her off the premises by the collar in approximately four seconds.”
“No,” Simone said, her chin lifting with quiet resolution. “Let her come up. For six years, I watched her stand at the top of the stairs and look down at me like I was garbage. It’s time she learned what the view looks like from the other side.”
